The Other Side
by JWood201
Summary: For two years, Stanley Walker's wife mourned the life he lost. What she didn't know was that he did too.


**The Other Side**

Insert Standard Disclaimer … Here  
Setting: The time between "24" and "Kiss and Tell."  
References: "Friends with Benefits," "Key Party," and many many more.  
Author's Note: The italicized portions are home movies or tapes. This is told out of order, so I apologize. Props to Monica for giving me the poetic basis for the lyrics for "F.Y.I.: I Hurt, Too."

* * *

"_Which stage star played Sandra Sue Abbott, stepmother to eight precocious TV kids?" a short redheaded man read unenthusiastically off of an index card.  
__The blonde woman pouted, face twisting in confusion. "Why are you asking me this?"  
_"Wrong_!" Jack bellowed right before the woman was doused with a torrent of water appearing seemingly from nowhere. Viv shrieked and stepped back, looking down at the front of her soaking wet dress before glaring up at Jack, who was laughing hysterically.  
_"_Dude! Why is every answer Betty Buckley? This blows!" Randall tossed his stack of index cards at Jack before turning on Dave, pushing him aside and storming away as Karen's voice became audible.  
_"_Welcome to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the Stanley Walker Founda –."  
_"_You're wasting tape, Elizabeth! Save it for the saturated socialites with no knowledge of Broadway starlets!"_

The image froze on Karen at the far end of the Egyptian exhibit at the podium, one side of Jack's head starting to appear in the haphazardly framed shot as he yelled at his assistant.

Stanley Walker squinted and pulled his chair closer to the television, remote control clutched tightly in one hand. He had been back in New York for only a few days and now occupied a small office while his government agent Malcolm attempted to acquire Will's legal assistance.

Once Randall walked out as host of OutTV's new talk show, Rosario had swiped this tape from Jack and sent it to him along with some photos and a letter, as she had been doing for a little over a year. This tape was two days old at the most. She didn't know he was back.

Stan rewound the tape, Jack's "Wrong!" momentarily deafening him as he pressed play. Stan muted the video as Jack began cackling again and leaned closer to the television, individual pixels jumping out at him in blurry miniscule squares. Over Viv's drenched and hysterical shoulder, Karen was visible in the background, preparing to take the podium to welcome her guests to the Stanley Walker Foundation Benefit.

Karen paced in a tight circle in front of a gold easel propping up a sign welcoming everyone to the benefit, staring down at her tangled hands and apparently going over her speech in her head. She suddenly stopped and looked up at the sign, nervous hands slowing to a stop. She stared at it for a long moment – a simple headline welcoming the guests supported by a photograph of the Walkers on one of their anniversaries. Back partially to the camera, Karen quickly touched the sign before gathering up her long dress and making her way briskly towards the podium.

Stan frowned and rewound the tape once more, inching even further forward on his chair. He played the tape forward again, this time in slow motion, as Karen stopped pacing. Stan hit the pause button as Karen kissed two fingers and pressed them to Stan's lips in the photo.

Stan let out a tormented sigh and dropped his head. Letting the remote fall to the floor, he held his head in his hands. He stood up quickly, growling in frustration, his chair toppling onto its side in protest. He ran an aggravated hand through his hair as he swiftly paced the small office like a caged animal. Stan finally stopped in front of the television again, eyes fixed on the small blurry image of his wife softly touching his two-dimensional likeness.

Stan sighed softly. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

* * *

Stan stared down at the thick envelope in his hands. He turned it over a few times, feeling the weight and studying the handwriting on the front.

He was terrified to open it, but it was there – that was a good sign.

The package was addressed to Malcolm Widmark, but boasted a familiar return address in the top left corner – R. Salazar, 720 Park Avenue.

After they had contacted Rosario only a few months after his disappearance and finally convinced her that he was, indeed, alive, Stan hadn't heard from her for weeks. Finally having come to terms with the fact that she hated him and didn't believe that he had to disappear for everyone's safety, he got this in the mail.

Stanley sat on the floor at the foot of the bed in his room, staring at this envelope. He looked exhausted and wore grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. Around him was everything he had taken from the manse when he disappeared, fanned out on the carpet in careful and deliberate formations. He rubbed a sleepy hand over his unshaven face, his other hand gripping the envelope in his lap as his eyes grazed over all of his worldly possessions.

Home videos, love letters, birthday cards, and photographs stared up at him from the cream carpet: Mason's swim team photo; family portraits, some including Rosario; various pictures of he and Karen; Karen with her friends; Stan's mother and sister; Olivia's ninth birthday; their wedding portrait in a gilded frame; and others.

The photo of seven year old Olivia playing dress-up in her stepmother's closet. Karen didn't know it happened, but Stan was too highly amused at finding his daughter teetering around in his wife's high heels, huge Chanel sunglasses sliding down her nose, and feathered robe hanging off her shoulders to just ignore her. He posed her quickly with an empty martini glass and snapped a picture just as Olivia began yelling her protestations, one hand planted defiantly on her hip and reminding Stan eerily of Karen in that moment.

The photo of everyone on the yacht. Will and Stan had been sitting out on the deck discussing business when Karen slid into his lap, martini balanced in one delicate hand. They all looked up as Grace and Jack ran onto the deck, shrieking as they were chased by Olivia and Mason wielding water guns, soaking wet in their swimsuits with towels tied over their shoulders and floating behind them like capes. Rosario had taken this candid photo from the upper deck: Stan and Will having returned to their conversation; Karen staring blankly out to sea from behind her dark sunglasses as she took a sip of her drink, the fingers of her other hand idly twisted in Stan's hair as she perched in his lap; Grace and Jack with nowhere to run as they were subjected to hard streams of carefully-aimed water in the background.

Stan reached down and picked up his favorite photo from the carpet. Karen didn't know this one existed either. Stan had returned home late from a business meeting on a particularly stormy night and entered his bedroom to find his wife and her stepchildren tangled up in the middle of the king sized bed, peacefully asleep despite the torrential rain pounding the window and the thunder cracking across the sky. Knowing that Karen would never admit that it had happened, Stan had grabbed his camera and discreetly took a picture. He shook his head and picked up his pillow, laughing to himself as he started down the hall towards the guest room.

Stan returned the photo of his family to the carpet and turned his attention once again to the envelope in his lap. He stared at it for one last indecisive moment before tearing it open, pulling out a video tape. His brow furrowed in slight confusion as he studied it, finally recognizing the tape as being from one of the many security cameras aboard his yacht. Frowning, he saw that it was labeled "May 16, 2003," three months ago and just a few days after he died. Stan had a sneaking suspicion about what was on that tape, but he didn't want to see if he was right. He set it carefully aside inside the box he stored his memories in and peered into the envelope.

Nothing. No note, no explanation, no warm wishes, no "go to hell." He had expected at least that much from Rosario.

Sighing, Stan tossed the empty envelope aside and eyed the new tape with strong aversion. This was almost as bad as getting no response at all. Maybe even worse.

* * *

"_Honey, what's this? What's going on? Why are you following me around with that thing?" Karen demanded, gesturing widely at Stan before turning on her heel and wandering away.  
_"_Oh, come on, Kar," Stan whined, following her. "What's the point of getting a video camera for Christmas if I can't use it?" he pouted as Karen dropped into an overstuffed armchair in the living room. She pulled her feet up underneath her and adjusted her red silk pajamas while giving her husband her best glare. Her makeup was applied flawlessly this early in the morning, but her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. Stan kept the camera focused on her as she continued to ignore him. "Do something for the camera, Karebear," Stan asked playfully.  
__Karen's head snapped up from the small turquoise Tiffany's box she had collected from a pile of wrapping paper. "Oh, for god's sake, Stanley!" she spat, "I'm not going to flash you!" Stan laughed appreciatively as Karen rolled her eyes and fastened her new diamond necklace.  
_"_Daddy!" Six year old Mason appeared in front of Karen with his brand new Pogo stick, big red bow still tied to the front. "I can do it! Watch!" Karen looked up with mild interest as Mason carefully stepped onto the toy. He got a few decent bounces in before Olivia shoved him unceremoniously out of frame to beam into the camera. Karen snorted a laugh as Mason flew headfirst into a mountain of wrapping paper.  
_"_Daddy!" Olivia exclaimed sweetly, artificial Christmas greens pinned into her long red hair. "Look what I made with my Easy Bake Oven!" She proudly presented a small cake that she had not quite finished baking, a huge blob of bright pink frosting adorning the top.  
_"_Can I have it?" Mason asked from the floor.  
_"_No!" Olivia yelled before turning back to grin at her father.  
__As Olivia began a proud monologue about mastering the art of Easy Bake without the instructions, Mason wandered over to where his stepmother was still curled up on her chair, pouting severely about being pushed off of his Pogo stick and then consequently denied cake.  
__Karen glanced up idly from going through the contents of her Christmas stocking as Mason climbed up on her chair and sat over the armrest, frowning down at the upholstery. After a minute, Karen pulled a candy cane out of her stocking and offered it to Mason. He took it from her, giving the carpet a small smile, and hesitated only a moment before snapping it in half and giving one piece back to Karen.  
__Both sucking on their candy, Karen continued to root through her stocking as Mason watched before pulling out a black rock. She frowned and Mason began giggling. Karen scowled furiously at the gag piece of coal that someone, probably Rosario, had planted there as Mason laughed harder. Olivia raised her voice as she continued babbling about her cake to make sure her father heard her over her little brother's cackling as Karen shrugged and tossed the coal over her shoulder.  
__Mason slid off of the armrest onto the chair beside Karen, peering curiously into the stocking as Karen plunged her hand inside once again. She pulled out a small black jewelry box, brow furrowed in confusion. Karen opened it and gasped upon seeing a glittering pair of diamond stud earrings staring back at her. She showed her stepson, who nodded his approval before taking it upon himself to finish exploring the stocking._

Stan paused the tape as Karen shot the man behind the camera a brilliant smile and Mason pulled more candy out of his stepmother's stocking, fully intending on keeping it for himself.

He couldn't believe that they had gotten a divorce. They hadn't even lasted through the reception. But Stan would be lying if he said he wasn't secretly pleased.

Rosario had stunned him with a phone call six months ago. It was urgent, she said, having had Private Detective track down Malcolm, the only government agent dumb enough to use his real name. Karen wanted to get married, she explained in a panic, but couldn't bring herself to until she had Stan's blessing. She even went to see John Edward and was on the verge of calling off the ceremony since he couldn't contact her late husband. Because he wasn't dead.

Stan sat listening in shocked silence as Rosario's story flooded out of her and through the phone line. "What should I tell her?" Stan was brought back to awareness as she paused, waiting for a response. "I couldn't tell her you approved when I knew you were out there somewhere missing her. But I know you want her to be happy."

Rosario paused again and Stan frowned. She had got him there. He had almost convinced himself to tell Rosario that he didn't approve when she had to go and say that. "I do," Stan finally whispered and he could feel Rosario smile sadly on the other end of the line.

But she wasn't happy.

Stan sat on the floor, his memories arranged neatly around him on the carpet and the newest package from Rosario balanced in his lap. He pulled out a stack of photographs – professional wedding photos that Karen didn't want and Rosario had sent to Stan just to torture him. He flipped through them quickly, tossing most into the trashcan.

In the reception hall – Karen on stage addressing her guests; towering over Beverley Leslie; doing the chicken dance with Rosario; posing with Jennifer Lopez; and a candid shot of Karen at an empty table talking to Jack, a troubled look gracing her face.

On the roof of Caesar's Palace – Karen with Lyle; Karen with Lyle, Will, and Jack; in a variety of different poses. She was smiling in all of them, but in some her eyes went dull and empty, vacant as if she had momentarily left her body, but in the next photo she was back to normal. These pictures Stan saved from the garbage for some inexplicable reason, jerked to a halt when he saw them, stowing them away with the rest of his mementos.

Stan pulled a few more random pictures out of the package – Olivia's prom portrait, Mason and his grandmother, and a picture labeled "Hawaii – July 2004" on the back. Stan turned it over and stopped short.

Rosario had obviously taken the picture during her and Karen's summer away after the collapse of the Walker-Finster union. The candid photo was taken from behind as Karen sat out on the hotel room balcony, leaning back in the chair with her bare feet up on the railing. The vivid orange sun was just setting over the cerulean water in the distance and a slight breeze blew Karen's hair, which was tied up casually with a large tropical flower. An open bottle of Smirnoff sat on the ground beside her chair and she looked oddly at peace despite the concentration weighing heavily on her furrowed brow. Karen held a pencil tightly in her teeth, squinting at the half-blank sheet of staff paper propped up against her legs through her glasses and cradling her guitar across her lap.

Stan frowned slightly and retrieved a photocopy of a piece of sheet music from the package, notations and dynamics written in by hand and the title scrawled across the top in Karen's handwriting. Unlike Karen, Stan knew nothing about music and couldn't begin to imagine what it sounded like.

Not sure if I've ever felt this way  
You came into my life, changed it that day  
When we parted I nearly died  
You'll never know how long I cried

I moved away from the pain  
Lived my life once again  
So I say goodbye  
Because

F.Y.I.: I will no longer cry  
These tears of mine will stop and dry  
I told you once, I'll tell you again  
I don't really need you  
I'll be fine one day

Our love was so strong, who knew it would break?  
Pieces started to fall, I blame all your mistakes  
Things always change, and people do too  
Saw past your charm when you gave me a clue

You lied and you tricked me  
You left me alone  
But don't worry 'bout me  
Because

F.Y.I.: I finally moved on  
These tears of mine have up and gone  
I told you once, I'll tell you again  
I truly loved you, with all my heart  
Until you decided to tear it apart

No matter how many days, weeks, or months  
A year passes by  
I can't help thinking of you  
Because

F.Y.I.: I hurt too  
These tears of mine are flowing on through  
My thick walls are breaking, crumbling too  
Pack up your things, come back home to me  
'Cause I realize I need you...  
Need you with me  
Because

F.Y.I.: I hurt too  
You're not the only one  
I hurt too

Stan sighed. "I wish I could, Kar."

* * *

"_Stanley!" a shrill voice shrieked, "What the _hell_ are you doing?"  
__Stan's head, and the video camera he was holding, snapped up to find Karen standing in the doorway to the bathroom, wet hair hanging around her face and clutching a large towel tightly around her body. "Trying to figure out how to use the camera you got me for Christmas," he answered simply.  
_"_Why are you in _here_?"  
_"_It's my room," he answered innocently and she scowled at him. "And I knew you'd be getting out of the shower now," Stan added mischievously.  
_"_Well, get the hell out, Tommy Lee."  
_"_You can't make me," he pouted and Karen began advancing menacingly towards him, eyes narrowed and water dripping onto the cream carpet. Stan started backing away, camera focused on his increasingly annoyed wife the entire time.  
_"_You wanna _bet_?" Karen spat, making a desperate reach for the camera. "Turn it off!"  
_"_Whoa. Watch it, Kar. Don't get close enough for me to grab your towel," he teased, reaching out playfully in front of him.  
__Karen leapt backwards, looking truly horrified. She tightened her grip on the towel and wrapped her arms around her wet body. "Damn it, Stanley! Stop it!"  
_"_What's your problem? Can you think of a better way to break in the new camera?"  
__Karen's eyes widened and she gasped dramatically. "Stanley Walker, you are disgusting!" She pivoted and stalked back towards the bathroom.  
_"_Karen! What's the matter?" The bathroom door slammed in his face. "I'm sorry!" He heard the lock crash into place; and then silence._

Stan cringed with guilt as he stopped the tape. He hadn't known about Karen's starring role in _Next to Godliness_ until the next year when Grace found out and Karen returned home one night with a box full of video tapes that she refused to let him see. Stan found the box the next day shoved roughly in the back of her massive closet. His mouth dropped open and he suddenly realized why she had thrown such a fit the previous year when he saw the photo on the tape's box. She looked so young.

Stan had taken one of the tapes and hid it among his own possessions. He stared at it sitting on the bottom of the box of items he had packed when he disappeared.

He had never watched it. He couldn't.

He started to once, years ago, out of sheer curiosity, but Mason had wandered into the room and Stan took it as a sign.

Stan moved the film aside and picked up a pile of envelopes – letters he and Karen had written to each other over the years. Dated in the decade spanning 1985 to 1995 and again between late 2001 and 2002 while he was in prison, he had saved both letters Karen had written and unsent letters penned by him. He was particularly ashamed of the earlier letters written while he was still married to Kathy, but that didn't make them any less special to him.

Stan was about to take one out of the envelope when he heard footsteps and something drop to the floor in the hallway outside the door. Knowing it could only be one thing, Stan opened the door to retrieve the most recent package Rosario had sent him.

He returned to his spot on the floor, sitting down amidst the photos littering the carpet and pried the cardboard box open. Nestled inside was a Tupperware container full of Rosario's famous chocolate chip cookies and an envelope. He carefully lifted the flap and pulled out a birthday card. It was one of those "from all of us" cards, although Rosario was the only person who knew of its existence. He opened the card and a single photograph slid into his lap, labeled "Stanley Walker Day – October 14, 2004." His birthday.

It was nighttime in the picture, the lights of Atlantic City spotting the background. Out on the helipad, the still-rotating blades created a strong wind that tossed Karen's hair and skirt wildly. She gripped Jack's hand tightly and held a champagne flute gently in her other hand. They both looked up into the night sky, Karen's eyes squeezed shut, glasses raised and toasting the heavens.

* * *

_Karen paced the yacht's master suite, a bottle of Jack Daniels clutched in one hand. Dressed in an exquisite all-black suit, she suddenly slammed the bottle down on the bedside table and scooped up her large sunglasses, slipping them over her eyes and preparing to head outside.  
__There was no sound accompanying the grainy black and white video as Karen stalked to the door, arm outstretched to grab the knob. She suddenly stopped, hand suspended in mid-air, and wavered for a moment on her heels as if she had been physically struck. Karen turned and pushed her back to the wall, eyes sweeping over the room. Her shoulders quivered slightly and she inhaled deeply, letting the air out in one long controlled breath. Karen nonchalantly ran a tissue under her eyes and calmly tossed it away.  
__She turned back to face the door when she stopped again, hand gripping the knob, and leaned her forehead against the wood. Karen stood perfectly still for a long moment until her shoulders began trembling again, faintly at first, then more and more violently as her body shook with sobs.  
__She twisted around again, back pressed against the wall, and covered her face with one hand. Karen slowly slid to the floor and pulled her knees securely to her chest. She ripped off her sunglasses, flinging them away across the room, and dropped her forehead to her knees.  
__Karen sat curled up on the floor, hugging her legs and shaking uncontrollably, for a long time before the door beside her slowly opened. Jack stepped into the room on his way back from lying out on the deck, still in his swimsuit and towel in hand. Karen launched herself into his arms as soon as he made his presence known, kneeling down beside her and gently touching her shoulder. Karen clutched at his bare back, burying her face in his neck, and he held her tightly as she wept._

Stan sat forward on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. He held his face in his hands, peering over his fingers and eyes glued to the television screen. The remote lay on the floor at his feet where Stan had dropped it, his full suitcase resting beside him.

May 16, 2003.

He had never watched it. The tape was buried in the bottom of the memory-filled box for over a year.

He was going back to New York today. After two years, it was time.


End file.
